Do Not Hesitate To Leap
by Riverdancekat09
Summary: Formerly Normal For Kirkwall.  Rising tensions, both professional and personal, pull Cassidy Hawke to the brink. In this city, it's hard to tell the difference between flying...and falling. Rated T; spoilers abound.
1. Outlandish Ingredients

An awestruck hush stole through the Darktown clinic as the Champion of Kirkwall swung the door open, Fenris and Varric on her heels. Cassidy fought the urge to fidget under the speculative glances and hissing whispers of rumor. Fenris drew protectively closer, the familiar flash of scarlet cloth catching her eye like a beacon.

"You sure about this, Hawke?" Varric muttered worriedly. "Remember what happened last time."

Cassidy grimaced—she did remember. "One step at a time," she replied reasonably. "No harm in finding out what he wants."

"Yeah, maybe he just needs new feathers for his robes," the dwarf chuckled nervously.

Fenris snorted skeptically but said nothing. He had argued, cajoled, and grumbled his protests all the way from Hightown, only to be met with Cassidy's even-tempered refusal to listen. But he was here. He and his red sash. The agony of second-guessing the meaning behind the simple gesture was almost second nature by now, and Cassidy was able to push it aside after barely a moment as Anders approached. The nervous flicker of his smile did nothing to soothe her trepidation.

"You—you came," he greeted her. "I didn't think you would, not after—" He stopped himself abruptly, memory and guilt flashing through his eyes.

"Out with it mage," Fenris growled into the awkward silence.

Anders shot him a resentful, blue-tinged glare before continuing. "I'm going to be trying something," he explained, not quite meeting Cassidy's eyes, "and—and I thought you might want to know, or be a part of it, maybe…" His hands twitched convulsively as he forced himself to continue. "I see it now—I was wrong about Justice. It's unnatural, being joined with him like I am." He lifted his honey-brown gaze to hers. "You know better than anyone," he said softly, with something like sympathy.

Cassidy's brows shot into her hairline in surprise, even as Courage seethed to life. Predictably, a cold sweat began trickling down her robes, and her stomach pitched alarmingly. She gritted her teeth against the familiar discomfort as she fought to make sense of the spirit's buzzing indignation. _We are _not _like them, _Courage hissed silently, and its fury roiled into a throb at the top of Cassidy's spine. Cassidy saw an answering tension in the clench of Anders's jaw, the tightening lines around his mouth, and wondered if he waged a similar battle with Justice.

He broke away from the burst of power behind her gaze and continued, "I've been looking into some Tevinter magic—"

"Why am I not surprised?" Fenris interrupted with acid sarcasm.

"Not helping, Spike," Varric admonished him, glancing apprehensively between the two mages.

"They're the only ones who don't use a beheading as the only cure for spirit possession," Anders retorted hotly, blue fire sparking at his fingertips. He shoved his hands into his pockets and inhaled deeply, as though trying to regain some measure of control. "I found a recipe for a potion," he explained, addressing Cassidy as if Fenris and Varric weren't there.

"Is it safe?" Cassidy asked worriedly. "From what I've heard magisters don't even sit down to dinner without a nice blood ritual on the side."

Anders smiled tiredly, acknowledging the point. "The ingredients are a little outlandish," he admitted, "but no blood magic. I've even been able to scrape up most of them on my own—I just need your help with the last two. They're…a little hard to come by."

Suspicion jangled warningly in the back of her mind as Cassidy cautiously asked what he needed. The names were wholly unfamiliar, and she didn't feel any better when he explained that, in the simplest terms, he needed piss, shit, and dragon vomit.

"Crawling through sewers and caves," Varric sighed, running an absentminded hand over Bianca's stock. "Exactly what I wanted to do with my day, Blondie."

"Are you sure about this, Anders?" Cassidy asked softly as Anders gathered his things. "Is—is this what Justice wants?"

He raised his gaze to hers, and Cassidy braced herself for the impact of chains and fire. But nothing came. For the first time since she had met him, only Anders lived behind the intense, unflinching stare. "He wants to be _free_," he replied earnestly. "Trust me, this is the only way."

Cassidy searched his face, taking in the web of lines permanently etched under the stubble. "Then what are we waiting for?" she chirped, too brightly. "Let's go get messy."

* * *

><p>"A copper for your thoughts, Hawke," Fenris said quietly as they followed Anders through the stinking passages under Darktown.<p>

"I wish magisters were less extreme with their ingredients," Cassidy quipped readily. "But nope—you either have to trade your soul to a demon or scrape crystallized urine off of walls."

The former slave repressed a snort of laughter at the image she conjured and curled an insistent hand on her shoulder. "Do you believe him?" he asked urgently. "About this potion?"

"I wouldn't be down here if I didn't," she retorted, pointedly stepping around a fetid puddle of sludge.

Fenris's gaze drifted uncomfortably toward her hairline. "And what about you?" he asked uncertainly, voice low and quiet. "Would you do the same?"

Cassidy felt the blood drain from her face as dark spots exploded behind her eyes. The dull ache at the base of her neck churned into an all-consuming, twisting pain that felt as though it would shake her bones apart. _**We are not like them! **_Courage roared furiously.

Cassidy fought past the haze of the spirit's unfamiliar rage, fought to bring Fenris's rapt, apprehensive expression into focus. His lips were moving, forming the shape of her name—his voice was no more than a faint rumble, distant as a memory. Her teeth rattled and ached as he shook her, fear stark in his large, moss-green eyes. Fear of her, or fear _for _her?

With an abrupt _pop_, her hearing returned and the spots cleared from her vision. She dragged a ragged breath into her constricted lungs as awareness returned in jagged pieces. The bones in her shoulders ground together where Fenris squeezed them in a vice-like grip. The throb at the nape of her neck faded into insignificance and the only evidence of Courage's tantrum was a dry heat behind her eyes. "I think—I think it's over," she rasped, squirming uncomfortably as Fenris's clawed gauntlets pricked the skin under her robes. "You can let go now."

"Never," he retorted hoarsely, but nevertheless he softened his grip. "Never again." His gauntlets slid to her elbows, and the tanned contours of his face shifted into an expression she couldn't quite identify. "_Venhedis, _Hawke, I thought—"

"You'd be upset too, if someone suggested you drink essence of piss and shit to get rid of a houseguest," Cassidy interrupted, more sharply than she had intended.

Fenris's hands dropped from her as if he'd been burned. "I only thought to spare you that _thing's_ fate," he said tightly, wielding cold civility like a weapon. "Forgive me if I have stepped beyond my place."

Cassidy opened her mouth to argue, to apologize, but he gave her no such chance. He spun away from her, the snowy forelock screening his eyes as he took up his customary position guarding the rear.

"Not the spot I would have picked for a lovers' quarrel," Varric remarked with a disparaging glance at their surroundings. He waved a flask enticingly under her nose. "You okay, Hawke? I'll add candles and music when I tell it."

Mercifully, he had waited until the elf was out of earshot, but Cassidy had no doubt that Fenris's keen ears would pick up the conversation anyway. "We'd have to be sleeping together for it to be a lovers' quarrel," she pointed out, frustration and confusion turning her tone sour. "Since we're not, it's just a quarrel." She took a deep pull from the flask, sputtering as the liquid stung and burned her throat. "Andraste's steaming laundry—what _is _that?" she demanded, aghast.

"Hanged Man's finest whiskey," the dwarf replied cheerfully, tucking the flask back into his coat.

She scrubbed weakly at her mouth with her sleeve. "I thought I tasted rat," she muttered.

"Hawke."

"What?"

The knowing twinkle in Varric's eye was sympathetic, and just a bit smug. "I know a lovers' quarrel when I see one."

Anders's excited shout forestalled any further discussion. "Hey!" he called. "I found some!"

Cassidy swapped a comically rueful expression with her dwarf companion. "Oh, goody," she drawled.

"_Definitely _leaving this part out," Varric grumbled with feeling.

She chuckled and trotted up the narrow passage to catch up with her fellow apostate. The sterile, overpowering whiff of ammonia made her nose wrinkle. "I hoped you were kidding."

Anders shifted guiltily at her expression. "I did warn you," he reminded her. "Listen, while I've got you alone for a moment, are you sure about Fenris? I mean," he continued hurriedly, "it looked like whatever he was saying sort of—set you off, somehow."

Cassidy flushed, ashamed that her struggle had been so apparent. "It's never happened before," she confessed. "I thought I had a better grip on how this…partnership works."

"He can't understand what you're going through," Anders insisted, standing to face her. "What you're _always_ going through. He's let one bad experience blind him to the reality of what we mages endure. How can you stand it?" He glared resentfully at the approaching elf. "Wouldn't you prefer someone who knows how you feel? Someone more open-minded?"

For a moment she was certain she had misheard. But the flirtatious shine in his eyes was unmistakable, as was the seething jealousy that twisted his expression as Fenris drew nearer. All traces of sympathy evaporated in the wake of pure outrage. Cassidy swallowed a lifetime's worth of sharp, shrewish retorts and forced herself to remain civil. "It's none of your business who I 'prefer', Anders," she clipped out frostily. "Let's collect your piss-crystals and get out of here."

* * *

><p>The Lowtown sun on their faces felt like a boon from the Maker Himself. Cassidy had to laugh at the image they likely presented as they sped towards the Hanged Man—covered in scum from head to toe, hungry, reeking, and cranky. They scrubbed off the worst of their filth in Varric's suite and fell gratefully on the feast of fresh bread and cold meat Corff sent up with Norah.<p>

Aveline was waiting in the common room when they emerged, pacing anxiously in the narrow space between two tables. "Hawke," she said by way of greeting, "Hubert's been looking everywhere for you."

Cassidy barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This was not the first time she'd had cause to regret her partnership with the Orlesian mine owner. But this was the first time he had troubled Aveline about it. "What's happened?"

"I don't know," the Guard-Captain admitted, "but it looks bad. You can see the smoke all the way from the Keep."

Cassidy ignored Anders's palpable frustration as she hurried into her belt of potions and healing poultices. "It can _wait, _Anders," she said with finality the third time he huffed impatiently.

"I'll come with you," Aveline offered readily. "I have a feeling you're going to need the extra help."


	2. Waiting

**AN: **I deeply apologize for taking so long with this chapter-it was really hard to nail down and I'm still not entirely happy with it. Between statistics and Legacy (which was AMAZING, for anyone who's curious)...let's just say I'm easily distracted and leave it at that. Bioware owns all.

* * *

><p><em>The pain was gone.<em>

_ He turned his hands over, and found them unmarred by the fine web of ink and lyrium. He was untouched, free of the pain._

_ Free._

_ The word felt like a golden bubble inside, swelling steadily until it escaped in a shout of laughter. He rolled onto his back, knowing there would be no discomfort, no souvenirs from the hated magisters. Time ceased to have meaning as he luxuriated in the novelty of painlessness._

_ Cassidy. He should show Cassidy. Another bubble of laughter slid through him as he thought of her smile, of how it could spread across her mouth like a sunrise. He stood to brush himself off, the sand and grit clinging to his fingers._

_ He stopped short, baffled. Kirkwall did not have a jungle. But the vibrant, living green of the shaded depths beckoned to him. All thoughts of finding Cassidy flew as recognition jolted into his gut._

_ Seheron._

_ A strange frenzy overtook him, and he plunged into the dense foliage. His bare feet sprang over the heavy-scented jungle floor, each step releasing a fragrant bouquet that teased at his memory. Trees whizzed by at unnatural speeds; he passed through low-hanging branches and vines as though he were no more substantial than a phantom. Instinct told him where to go, told him he would know what he sought when he found it._

_ He skidded and stumbled to a halt at the edge of a clearing. The homely structure seemed to peel away from the surrounding jungle, sturdy log walls and slanted roof untouched by the passage of time. He'd found it. Before the markings, before slavery, there was sand and heat and the sickly-sweet perfume of the jungle living and dying all around him, and it was here._

Home.

_"Can you go back, wolfling?"_

_ It was her voice, yet the discordant cadence of _other _marked her as something else entirely. She peeled away from the shadows and stepped into the unforgiving glare of the Seheron sun. Green flames filled her eyes and danced beneath the translucent shell of her skin. He waited for fury, for fear, but could feel neither. He knew this creature, and could not summon the will to hate it. "You do not belong here, Courage," he scolded._

_ "No? I belong more than you, I think."_

_ A desperate sadness crawled into his throat as he struggled to find some other meaning behind the spirit's words, a meaning that would allow him to stay, to keep the pain away. But there was only one reason for Courage to be here, in this secret place of longing. The words dropped from his lips like notes from a Chantry bell, heavy and irrevocable. "This is not real."_

_ He choked on a howl of loss and fury as the spirit shook its head, pity stark in its expression. "And—and if I return with you," he continued, "the pain—the markings will return."_

_ Courage nodded solemnly. "It is no easy choice," it said gently, "but it must be _your _choice."_

_ He stared fixedly at the simple dwelling, not daring to blink for fear it would disappear back into the malleable reality of the Fade. "What hope is there, for one such as me?" he demanded hopelessly._

_ The spirit laughed, ancient amusement crackling through the air around it. It brushed ghostly fingers against the tattered scrap of red cloth around his wrist. "You know the answer to that, my fierce one." _

_ He felt his face harden in anger. "It is meager coin you trade with, spirit," he growled._

_ "We stand in _your _secret heart, wolfling. I offer you nothing you do not already possess."_

_ He still could not tear his gaze from the house in the clearing. Silhouettes slid across the small windows, beckoned to him, invited him to rest in eternal serenity. Tears rolled freely down his cheeks, dropping from his chin to plop quietly onto the jungle floor. His heart splintered and cracked as, inch by inch, he turned his back on the clearing and faced the spirit. "I do not know the way," he whispered._

_ The jungle dissolved into a white-hot haze of agony as Courage enfolded him in a burning embrace. __**"Do not be afraid,"**_ _it intoned, and its voice was its own. __**"She waits for you."**_

Fenris's entire body screamed. His bones ached as though they would never again fit properly together. Fire spread along every limb, tracing every line of lyrium under his skin, settling into an icy blur of pain that throbbed with his heartbeat.

"He's breathing—oh Maker he's b-breathing—"

"I'm so sorry, Hawke, I didn't see—it all happened so fast—"

"It wasn't your fault, Aveline—grab my pack, would you-?"

"Should Anders-?"

"No! I just—just give me some room?"

Chaos swirled above him as he tried to make sense of the familiar voices flowing back and forth. At the mention of Anders he groaned loudly—he'd had enough of healing and spirits for one day.

The voices disappeared into abrupt silence, and he feared he had slipped out of their reach once more. Even lifting his eyelids sent a fresh wave of pain crashing through him. The blurry oval hovering directly above him slowly resolved into a pale face, topped with a fringe of crow-black hair that brushed a preciously familiar pair of piercing turquoise eyes. Grime and blood streaked her ivory skin, left rust-colored rivulets on her small hands.

"You're hurt," he murmured, catching one of her hands in his own. The small movement sent a ringing agony through his arm, agony that eased slightly as Cassidy's magic flowed into him.

She laughed and shook her head, relief brightening her eyes. "Most of this is you, actually," she informed him shakily. "Next time you have an uncontrollable urge to go spelunking through the Fade, let me know, huh? I'll give you the tour, no charge."

He managed a weak, twitchy smile, before darkness claimed him.

* * *

><p>Soft footfalls in the rocky sand woke him. The unsteady firelight punctuated the deepening twilight with surges of light and heat. Bandages wrapped tidily around his torso, tied off expertly near his right hip. Fenris shifted experimentally on a makeshift pallet of scrubby branches and cloaks, wincing as the slight movement pulled at stiff, sore muscles.<p>

He and Cassidy were alone in a makeshift camp on the edge of the Bone Pit, as far away from the mine's carnage as could be managed. She hadn't yet noticed he was awake—Fenris relished the chance to simply watch her as she busied herself with camp chores. Soon, she had a small pot of water boiling, and the stench of burning corpses and rotting dragon-flesh was temporarily blocked by the more appetizing aromas of roasting meat. The pleasant smells lulled him into a gentle, relaxed lethargy that seeped into his aching bones. "I didn't know you could cook," he murmured drowsily.

Her head swiveled toward the sound of his voice, sending her hair swishing into her eyes. "I'm hopeless in a real kitchen," she joked, "but give me a fire pit and I will give you a feast."

Sweat beaded on his brow as he forced himself into a sitting position. Her fingers brushed his as she pressed a heel of bread into his hand, and the fatigue dissipated. "Where are the others?" he asked curiously.

"Knee deep in spider guts, probably." She lifted the pot off the fire and shook a packet of herbs into the hot water. Fragrant steam curled from the surface.

"Elfroot tea, Hawke?" Fenris teased.

"It's something Mother used to do," she explained with an answering smile. "Feel a cold coming on? Elfroot tea. Have a limb chopped off? Elfroot tea." Her easy smile wobbled and her hands trembled as she poured the brew into a cup. "Get ch-chomped nearly to b-bits by a dragon? Elfroot tea." The firelight wavered in a gust of wind, throwing her expression into shadow as she pressed the mug into his hands. She sat close enough to touch, close enough for him to reach out and pull her into his arms, if he only dared—

"How are you feeling?"

Her voice sliced into his consciousness, cutting off the giddy trails of his thoughts. "Alive," he answered honestly, "and grateful to be so."

"I thought I'd lost you," Cassidy whispered, eyes far away, staring into something only she could see. "I thought—I was afraid you wouldn't come back."

Her hand rested on the empty sand between them. Fenris slid his free hand under it, threading his fingers through hers. "I promised I'd stay as long as you had need of me," he reminded her softly. "And I always keep my promises."

She lifted her turquoise gaze to his, eyes red with the tears she'd tried to keep hidden. "Lucky me," she hiccupped, the corners of her mouth twitching upward in an approximation of her customary lopsided smile.

"Lucky me," he echoed. Silence stretched between them, heavy with too many words left unsaid. Words tangled together in his head, each one tied to the glorious chaos of feeling that bobbed inside him like a cork. "Hawke—Cassidy—"

"We've got Blondie's dragon vomit—can we go home now?"

Fenris bit down on a savage Tevinter oath as Cassidy sprang away from him. He turned his fiercest glare on the dwarf leading Aveline and Anders into the camp.

Varric grinned, unrepentant, as he flopped down on the space of dirty sand Cassidy had occupied scarce moments before. "Glad you're awake, elf—thought we were gonna have to carry you out of here."

The story emerged in fragmented pieces as Varric practiced embellishments for the audience he no doubt expected at the Hanged Man. Fenris listened helplessly as he struggled to reconcile the garbled narrative with the painful flashes of his own memory. A vicious kick from the high dragon's hind leg had sent Aveline flying across the pit. Cassidy, stopping to aid her friend, had not seen the monstrous head with its open jaws.

"—and the spectral form of the noble elven fugitive—that's you, Broody—scythed across the dragon's path, leaping selflessly into death's open maw," Varric finished, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"It wasn't nearly as impressive as he's making it sound," Anders added sourly. "More like foolish and terrifying, and utterly unnecessary."

"Shut up, Blondie," the dwarf retorted without rancor. "It's a solid story. We thought we were gonna have to peel Hawke off of you," he continued to Fenris. "Wouldn't leave your side for hours. Had to go mining for drakestone without her." Varric shot a quick glance to Cassidy, who was leaning over a spider bite in Aveline's leg. His customary smirk slid off his face as realization dawned. "Shit, we didn't interrupt anything, did we?" he asked guiltily.

* * *

><p>Dawn bathed the Bone Pit in a gentle pink light as they broke camp and picked their way down the mining trails. Fenris leaned heavily on Cassidy's shoulder as they brought up the rear of the bedraggled procession. He twisted surreptitiously, trying to relieve both the maddening itch of his healing wounds under the fresh bandages and the familiar prickle of her magic.<p>

_She waits for you._

Courage's words shuddered through him, sending trills of nervousness through his bones. The words had haunted his sleep, crept into his fevered dreams, and had taken root. Part of him wanted nothing more than to dismiss the spirit's words as more of the Fade's trickery. But another part—the part that held on to a scrap of red linen, the part that relived their single night together in solitary torment—desperately wanted the spirit's words to be true. It was suddenly difficult to remember exactly why he had thought it better to keep his distance.

The words slipped from him before he had consciously made a decision. "Will you join me for dinner next week, Hawke?"

Cassidy stumbled in surprise, the end of her staff catching on her ankle. Fenris fought the urge to fidget under her unrelenting stare as she searched his face. He yearned for the ground beneath his feet to open and swallow him up before she could refuse, or worse, _accept_, before he made a bigger fool of himself. The silence yawned and stretched as he held himself still, waiting.

If he had blinked, Fenris would have missed it. A strange, shy smile darted through her eyes, and she nodded once. The snarl of tension dissolved into a determined warmth that filled him to the brim.

He was through with waiting.

The sudden knock on the door jerked Fenris out of his anxious contemplation of the dilapidated table with its moldering cloth and chipped dishes. He forced down the tense knot at the back of his throat and descended the stairs. It took him a moment to reconcile his expectation with the copper-plated reality standing on the crumbling doorstep. "Aveline," he greeted her, managing to keep the bitter disappointment at bay. "To what do I owe the honor?"

The Guard-Captain smiled brightly as she stepped around him into the freshly-scrubbed interior. "Good news, Fenris," she said, tugging her gauntlets off. "We've found her."


	3. Rain Check

**AN: **I wasn't happy with the way this turned out the first time, so I fixed it up a bit. Chapter 4 is (finally) in the works and should be up soon. Thanks for reading, and remember, Bioware owns all!

* * *

><p>Gray clouds gathered ominously as Cassidy nervously smoothed her palms over the skirt of her robe. She turned this way and that, trying in vain to examine the difficult angles of her reflection.<p>

"Are you quite certain you not wish me to assist with your hair, my lady?" Oranna fretted behind her. "Mistress Hadriana always was quite pleased."

Cassidy tugged on one of the cropped crow-black strands in question. "After seven years of this mad city, I'm just grateful I have some on my head," she chuckled ruefully.

Oranna's lips twitched fleetingly. "As you say, my lady," she murmured. She pursed her lips thoughtfully as she took in the entirety of Cassidy's robe of deep blue wool, threaded with silver. "Though if—if it's not too bold to say, lady," she offered, "I doubt Ser Fenris will notice."

Cassidy caught the elven girl's shy smile of feminine commiseration in the mirror and could not help but grin back. "I think that's as good as I'll get," she trilled.

"Better than that, my lady," Oranna assured her. "As always."

It was not a long walk from her estate to the decrepit mansion Fenris called home, but the prospect of rain had Cassidy glancing nervously at the sky every few steps. Her heartbeat quickened in tandem with the rhythm of her footsteps on the neatly-cobbled streets. She felt naked without her staff; half-a-dozen times she started back to fetch it, and half-a-dozen times she made a defiant about-face back toward Fenris's mansion. Tonight, she determined stubbornly, she would be just Cassidy.

She could see the front door gaping open from across the courtyard. Cassidy wound her trembling hands into her robes and stepped over the threshold. Voices drifted down the stairs from the large central chamber. Something inside her sank past her stomach and into her boots as she realized Fenris was not alone. She paused in the doorway, watching with mounting dread as the scene unfolded before her.

"And you're certain it's her?" Fenris's gravelly baritone cracked sharply through the mansion's stale air.

"An elf, matching the description you provided, on the ship you named," Aveline replied wearily. It sounded as though she had been through this several times. "And alone," she added pointedly, "as far as I could tell."

Fenris slammed his palms into the flimsy table. "That's not good enough!" he snarled. "I need to know if it's a trap!"

Aveline stood abruptly, expression cold at the implicit insult. "I did you a _favor_, Fenris," she said frostily. "It's on you from here." She spotted Cassidy hovering uncertainly in the doorway and shook her head in exasperation. "You talk to him, Hawke—I've had my fill for the day." She pushed past her fellow Fereldan and stalked out of the ruined mansion.

Fenris shoved himself away from the table; the violent motion sent some of the empty wine bottles tumbling to the floor with a dissonant _clink_. "_Venhedis faasta vas!_" he swore, dragging a hand through his hair.

Cassidy slid a foot across the musty carpet and glanced at the wreckage of furniture and wine bottles. "I'm sure the table's very sorry for belonging to Danarius first," she teased gently, stooping to gather the scattered bottles. "You're probably its favorite squatter."

Fenris glared at her, green eyes sparking with frustration. "Of course you laugh at me," he muttered darkly. He began to pace restlessly, kicking up dust as he wore a track in the molding rug. "It's my sister," he explained tightly. "I've found her."

Thunder rumbled into the shocked silence. "Congratulations," Cassidy said flatly, feeling as though the sudden emptiness would swallow her whole. "Right? This _is_ good news?"

"I wish I knew for certain," Fenris confessed. "I followed up on Hadriana's information—every word she said was true. Varania left Magister Ahriman's service and went to Minrathous. She isn't a slave, Hawke," he finished, and the corners of his mouth twitched in a tentative smile. His eyes shone with something like pride as he whispered, "My sister—_free_."

_Varania_. Cassidy turned the foreign syllables over in her mind, trying to picture the woman to whom the name belonged. Rain began to tap insistently on the patched roof. "And this is you celebrating?" she asked in confusion, gesturing to the splintered, much-abused table. "Maker forbid you ever get _bad _news."

"Laugh it up, Hawke," he sighed resignedly. "It took every coin I had but I managed to do all this without drawing Danarius's attention—but the more it appears he doesn't know anything, the more I'm convinced he knows everything." He kicked viciously at a wine bottle and sent it clattering across the film of grime on the floor. "I sent word to Varania—she didn't believe me at first but I convinced her to meet me here, in Kirkwall. Aveline agreed to keep an eye out for Varania's ship in the harbor, and now she's _here_! She's agreed to meet me at the Hanged Man!"

"I know I smell a trap when everything goes according to plan," Cassidy drawled.

"This isn't some joke!" Fenris burst out angrily. "You don't know Danarius like I do—he's a _magister_. Minrathous is the seat of his power. He could have heard something, anything—even a whispered rumor would be enough for him." He turned the full force of his gaze to her face; there was intensity in the spring-colored stare she had rarely seen. "Come with me, Hawke," he urged. "I need you there when I meet her."

A hollow, counterfeit joy threatened to choke her as the not-quite-right words fully registered. "We'll go tomorrow," she promised, dusting herself off. She favored him with a brilliant, glittering smile that felt as though it would split her face in two. "You'd better get some rest," she advised, striving for a normal tone. "I won't let you sleep too late."

She had the irrational thought that the relief and gratitude that swept through his expression didn't suit him at all—she much preferred him scowling. And sister-less. "This means a lot to me," he said softly. "Thank you."

It was raining in earnest as Cassidy stepped into the Hightown night. Wet sheets slanted sideways with the spring breeze; water seeped up from the hem of her robe as she dashed through puddles. Her damp hair swished limply across her field of vision, brushing her cheeks with its clammy tendrils. The tangled skein of frustration and disappointment wound its way through her limbs, speeding her feet past her estate and toward Lowtown.

The Hanged Man was always crowded in bad weather, but Varric was easy to spot. He held court at a table close to the oversized hearth, regaling a captive audience with a much-embellished version of the events at the Bone Pit. He winked and waved when he noticed she'd come in; she mustered a smile for the barrage of curious stares that turned her way. "Didn't you have other plans?" he asked curiously as he finished his tale and the crowd dispersed.

Cassidy snorted with mirthless laughter. "Plans change," she sighed. She felt as battered as the rain-swept window. Maybe she _should _have let Oranna fuss with her hair, she reflected morosely, as she sank into an empty chair next to the dwarven storyteller.

As though by magic, a full tankard of ale appeared in front of her. "Don't you start," he warned her laughingly. "I don't think this city could take _both _of you brooding." He grinned, impervious to the glare she sent him. "It'll happen, Hawke," he assured her, his smirk softening slightly.

It was difficult to maintain the strange, toxic heat that had so consumed her scarcely moments before. The noise and laughter of the tavern warmed her as surely as the cheerful blaze beside her, and she could only shake her head in fond exasperation. "Never mind me," Cassidy said breezily, "you'll _never _believe this…"

* * *

><p>The morning air was redolent with the promise of more rain as Cassidy and Fenris made their way to Lowtown. She was occasionally forced to jog in order to keep up with his erratic, brisk pace. His moss-colored eyes were bright with nervous hope; he practically vibrated with tension, almost giddy with anxious excitement as he peppered the drawn silence with questions.<p>

"Will she look like me?"

"Will she want to stay longer?"

"Will she tell me about our mother?"

Cassidy could give him no answer besides a bemused smile as she watched his mood shift from anticipation to withdrawal and back again. She felt utterly helpless as a succession of contradictory emotions waxed and waned behind his eyes, pulling her heart with them.

The patchy clouds drifted lazily across the sun, throwing the Hanged Man into shadow as Fenris stepped inside. Only the most dedicated of Kirkwall's wastrels populated the common room first thing in the morning; Cassidy suspected most of them had not even bothered to stumble home.

She would have stood out anyway, Cassidy mused, in this den that stank of vomit and discontent. Her spine was ramrod straight as she stared aimlessly into an untouched mug of ale. Her hair was a bright red that rivaled Aveline's; she painted dark rouge onto her lips. When she lifted her eyes to scan the crowd, they were a green identical to Fenris's. A sad half-smile hovered on her painted lips, and her gaze lingered hungrily on Fenris's features. "It really is you," she murmured

"I remember you," Fenris breathed, almost reverently. "We used to play together while Mother worked. You called me—"

"Leto," she interrupted softly. "Your name is Leto."

"And you are Varania. My sister." He took a tentative step toward her.

She turned, hiding her face from him. Her arms crossed protectively over her torso, and she seemed to somehow diminish into herself.

Fenris frowned, bewildered and hurt. "What's wrong?" he asked.

An inexplicable dread hardened Cassidy's gut into an icy lump as movement at the top of the common room stairs drew her attention. For one wild moment, she prayed she was wrong, prayed the shadowed figures were merely more patrons coming down for breakfast. All such illusions shattered violently at the sight of the robed man leading a contingent of masked and armored men down the staircase. "I'll give you a hint," she bit out, and pointed.

"Ah, my little Fenris—predictable, as always."

Shock wiped the shy joy from Fenris's expression; Cassidy's heart twisted as she realized that, for all his talk of traps, he had never really expected Danarius to be here. He whirled furiously on Varania, hurt and rage hardening his gaze to black glass. "Tell me you didn't," he demanded harshly.

The sorrow and pity in her painted eyes made the betrayal that much worse. "I'm sorry it had to come to this, Leto."

"You—you led him here!" he snarled incredulously.

The robed man laughed silkily. "Don't blame your sister, Fenris," he chided, as though his former slave had merely quarreled over a spilt tea cup. "She did as any good citizen of the Imperium should."

Fenris's features twisted into a mask of hate. "I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius," he growled, "but I won't let you kill me to get them."

Danarius's thin lips quirked upwards in a supercilious smirk. "How little you know, my pet," he chuckled.

Cassidy instantly loathed the predatory gleam in the magister's eye as he surveyed the elf at her side. "You must be Danarius," she interjected. "Funny. I thought you'd be taller."

Danarius turned his cold, appraising stare on her. "And this is your new mistress, I take it? The Champion of Kirkwall!" His laugh was dagger-cruel. "She is…lovely."

"Fenris doesn't belong to anyone," Cassidy spat. The unexpected rage made her tremble. "He is _free._"

"Is that jealousy I hear? Not that I blame you." The magister's eyes continued to gleam hungrily as he returned his attention to Fenris. "He does have so many…talents, doesn't he?"

"Shut your mouth, Danarius," Fenris hissed. His markings filled the air around him with an electric blue crackle.

Annoyance flickered over Danarius's expression. "The word is 'Master'!"

Cassidy had had enough. She twitched her hand and fire sparked to life in her palm.

The common room seemed to explode into motion. Cassidy had to duck as Fenris ripped his greatsword from its scabbard. Danarius seemed to slither behind a contingent of his men, using them as a shield against his former slave's fury. Ice and lightning shot through the air as Cassidy picked off the slavers one by one. She spotted Varania in a corner of the room, a dagger held to her palm. Rage swelled within her, and Cassidy didn't even bother casting a spell: her fist connected squarely with Varania's cheek with a wet crunch. The elf crumpled, the dagger spinning uselessly from her hand.

A hail of brightly-fletched bolts whistled through the stale air as Varric entered the fray, and the remaining slavers dropped as Bianca sang her lullaby. For a moment, it looked as though Fenris's revenge would be easy—almost anticlimactic. She turned to say as much to Varric. But then Courage surged through her consciousness, a telltale warning that beings from the Fade were approaching. Shades burst from clouds of Fade-smoke; rage demons left scorching trails in the seasoned wood floor. Cassidy quickly eliminated all she could reach, putting her back to the wall as she concentrated on keeping the dangerous foes off Fenris's back as he fought his way to his most hated enemy.

The battle was brutal. Danarius summoned his lackeys from Fade almost more quickly as they could banish them. Courage began to tire as Cassidy juggled her energy between powerful healing and attacks in quick succession. Shades choked the room, clustered around her like sharks sensing blood in the water. She lost sight of Fenris behind a fresh wave of skeletal corpses Danarius pulled from under the Hanged Man's floorboards. Desperation fueled her exhausted limbs as she froze, scorched, and battered a path through the wall of shades.

And then suddenly the shades vanished with a cacophony of shrieks. Cassidy burst through the lingering haze just in time to watch Fenris's blade cast Danarius to the floor. The icy burn of battle faded as she watched the magister fall. On his hands and knees Danarius started to make his way toward the door.

He was no match for Fenris's speed and fury. The lyrium crackled to life under his skin as he effortlessly lifted the pathetic figure by the throat, the magister's feet dangling several inches off the floor.

"_You are no longer my master!" _

Danarius's throat collapsed under the relentless pressure of Fenris's grip. The clawed gauntlets tore through skin and muscle, spraying his lifeblood across the rafters. The magister's body crumpled to the floor, a bloody and broken shell. Some small, perverse part of Cassidy had to laugh at the fragility of it all. Strange that a few lucky hits with a sword was all it took to bring down the man who had seemed so untouchable for the better part of six years.

Fenris's angry glow only intensified as he turned on his sister. She crouched defensively on the common room stairs and lifted her gaze to her brother's face. "I had no choice, Leto," she said. Cassidy felt a savage satisfaction rip through her at the sight of the ugly, purpling bruise where she'd struck Varania's cheek.

"Don't call me that," Fenris growled. "_How could you do this to me?"_

Varania cast a mournful glance towards Danarius's corpse. "He promised to make me his apprentice," she explained, tone full of regret. "I would have been a magister, in time."

"You sold me out-to become one of _them_?" The horror and rage was plain on his face as he took a step towards his sister. He wound his gauntlet into her witch-red hair and forced her gaze to his markings. "Do you see what they _did _to me?" he shouted.

Varania bit out a harsh, bitter laugh as she struggled vainly to free herself from his grasp. "I see, _Leto_," she hissed. "More than you know. You said you never asked for this life," she explained with vicious relish, "but that's not true. You wanted the markings-you _competed _for them. Were they everything you hoped they would be?"

"Why are you telling me this?" Fenris interrupted raggedly. His skin still sang with the power of his markings, his killing hand stayed temporarily by confusion.

"You used the victory boon to grant Mother and me freedom," Varania continued, heedless of the agony her words caused. She matched his furious glare with one of her own. "She died scrubbing Master Ahriman's floor! You have no idea what I've had to do since! This was my only chance!"

"It was your _last _chance," Fenris snarled as he raised his clawed hand. His markings brightened in preparation.

Varania's eyes widened in realization and terror as she helplessly writhed in his iron grip. "Don't do this!" she pleaded frantically. She cast about desperately for an ally, and her gaze settled on Cassidy. "Please, tell him to stop!"

Cassidy froze in indecision and shock. She cast a frenzied glance between the two elves; the moment seemed to sear into her memory. Fenris's anguish and rage were a part of her as his gaze burned into his sister's wide and fearful eyes, so like his, and she knew she could not let him do this. Not for this treacherous waste of a sister. With a reckless prayer to the Maker, she shoved herself into the narrow space between Fenris and his quarry. "Don't kill her, Fenris," she interjected urgently.

His markings blinked out abruptly, and he turned his glare on her. "She would have seen me sold to the magisters without a second thought," he protested angrily. "Why shouldn't I kill her?"

"She's your family," Cassidy urged, willing him to understand what she meant. "Sorry excuse that she is, she's _family_."

"You don't want to do this, Fenris," Varric added, with all the weight of someone who knew from experience. "You may not believe it now, but trust me, you'd regret it later."

Fenris's entire being seemed to tighten as he shifted his attention from Varric to Cassidy, before resettling his fury on Varania. "Get out," he snapped, shoving her away from him in disgust.

Varania cautiously picked herself up off the dirty floor, as though fearing some trick. She couldn't resist a parting shot as she reached the tavern door. "Freedom was no boon," she spat. "I look on you now and I think _you _got the best end of the bargain."

Fenris's stare snapped to where his sister stood, but she was already gone. "You should have let me kill her," he said flatly, his eyes on the door.

Cassidy's heart hurt to watch him struggle with the flurry of new information. "She wasn't worth it," she replied with certainty.

"I thought discovering my past would bring a sense of belonging," he murmured, looking so lost that she ached to lead him out whatever dark place he'd fallen into, "but I was wrong. Magic has tainted that too. I am alone."

Cassidy brushed her fingers against the red scarf he'd kept tied around his wrist. "You know that's not true, Fenris," she chided in a whisper. "I'm still here."

Fenris dragged his gaze away from Danarius's corpse. His expression was soft, tender as he brought his palm up to caress her cheek. The worn red cloth flared between them like an ember. Then the moment was gone, and he was stumbling out the door into the Lowtown afternoon.

It was a little like magic, she mused as she trailed slowly after him-she could no more stop loving him than she could stop being a mage.


	4. You Can Stand Under My

Danarius was dead.

Fenris struggled to keep his footing as the world seemed to tilt sideways. The drifting, patchy clouds sent shadows spinning through Lowtown's streets. He braced his back against the Hanged Man's wall, seeking something—anything to anchor him in this sudden, turbulent chaos.

Was _this _the freedom he had sought for so long? Danarius was _dead_. Fenris had focused his entire existence on the moment he would tear out his former master's heart. He'd given precious little thought to what might happen afterwards—indeed, he admitted to himself with a shell-shocked laugh, he hadn't really expected an "afterwards" at all. Now the moment had come and gone. He'd had his revenge.

_Now what?_

Varania's spiteful revelations haunted him. With just a few words, he felt as though she had reduced him to so much rubble. Who was this _Leto_, Fenris asked himself angrily, this elf who had sought this…mutilation as a _prize_? As an _honor_? He glared at the stark white lines of lyrium tracing his palms, and tried to remember not having them, tried to imagine _wanting _them, fighting and killing for them.

Fenris fought down a surge of nauseous, futile rage. What a fool this Leto—_he_—must have been. He cast his glare into the graying sky, feeling as black and heavy as the gathering rainclouds. He ignored the swing of the tavern door, barely noticed the tangle of staff and robes that tumbled into the bleak afternoon. He couldn't dismiss the familiar hum and prickle of Cassidy's magic as she drew nearer, though. Reluctantly, he dragged his gaze from the sky to her face.

The silence hung in the air between them, tense and heavy. Wordlessly she joined him against the wall; his markings sang and tingled where her shoulder brushed his. He could see the questions crowding her features—they deepened the furrow between her brows, darkened the turquoise gaze to azure. Her mouth tightened as though to contain everything Fenris knew she longed to say, everything she wanted to offer in meager comfort. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd mustered the courage to press his mouth to his, though that paltry sum was nothing when he weighed it against all the times he'd yearned to kiss her and didn't dare.

As though in slow motion, he caught her hand in his and pulled her towards him. He buried his face in the hollow between her neck and shoulder, seeking a reprieve from the deafening silence of her unspoken questions. She folded into him with little resistance, cautiously twining her arms around his neck.

The silence wasn't so oppressive anymore, Fenris noticed with relief. Exhaustion, sudden and merciless, crashed over him, and suddenly she was holding him up as he slumped into her. The morning's events seemed surreal, disconnected; he struggled to sort them in some semblance of order, of importance. "My mother is dead," he muttered woodenly.

It was the one loss in a lifetime of losses she could possibly understand. Cassidy's hand curled around the nape of his neck. He felt her grip tighten, and allowed himself to be pulled closer into her. "Mine too," she whispered, voice thick with echoes of her own loss.

Uncounted years of grief shuddered through him, left him drained and empty as he clung to her, to the only thing that still made sense in this mad new world. A low rumble of thunder was their only warning before the downpour of rain hissed into the rough-hewn streets. Fenris instinctively hunched his shoulders against the inevitable wetness—several moments passed before he realized he was still mostly dry. He glanced up in surprise and watched the fat drops roll off an unseen barrier to gather in shallow puddles at their feet. He dropped his gaze to Cassidy's face, a mere hand's breadth away from his. Her eyes drew him in, pulled him into a strange limbo: part memory, part possibility, part promise. "_Mereri quid feci tibi?_" he murmured hoarsely, pressing his forehead to hers.

The full effect of her suspicion was ruined by the fact that she went slightly cross-eyed trying to glare at him from so close. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"It means," he lied baldly, "'all this time I spend running around in the rain with you and this is the first time you use your magic for something useful?'"

A soft huff of laughter stirred the fringe of black locks that always seemed to fall into her eyes. "All this time you spend running around in the rain with me and this is the first time you complain?" she retorted. Chilled, damp air filled the space between them as she adjusted herself around him—one arm slid unobtrusively around his waist; her free hand drew his arm around her shoulders. The invisible barrier shifted and stretched slightly to accommodate them as they stepped out of the Hanged Man's shadow.

Silence floated between them as they made the trek back to Hightown. It was anyone's guess who led and who followed; Fenris had the surprising thought that perhaps it didn't matter. Perhaps the only thing that mattered was the feathery brush of her hair against his cheek, the warmth that pooled where her body pressed close to his. Perhaps all that mattered was the soft smile that hung stubbornly at the corners of her mouth, the shine behind her eyes that called to a place he'd carried inside him for the past three years.

The streets grew wide and tidy as Hightown opened to the spring rain. The scents of rain and garden flowers mingled to create something new, something that sealed itself into Fenris's memory as they approached his mansion. With a fresh shock of confusion, he realized it may truly be his now, since Danarius was dead. Somehow, the thought didn't bring him the satisfaction he expected. Then again, it was difficult to feel satisfied with any abode that still stank of corpse-rot.

Cassidy apparently was thinking along the same lines. "Home sweet home," she teased him, jostling him out of his deepening spiral of confusion and frustration.

He grunted in wry agreement, eyeing the boarded windows and cracked façade with disfavor. "Maybe I can burn it to the ground and start over," he grumbled, not even half-joking.

A ripple of laughter spilled over her expression as they stepped into the dilapidated porch's meager shelter. "I'm always in for some cathartic arson," she chuckled, gently extricating herself from their prolonged sideways embrace. She sobered slightly, and Fenris barely repressed a sigh of regret as the questions returned to lurk behind her eyes.

"Varric asked for my help tonight—interested?"

Fenris would have wagered everything he owned that she had been quite ready to say something else, but had thought better of it. "Why not?" he replied with a shrug. He stared despondently at the decrepit edifice. "It's not as if I had any other plans."

The pressure of her hand in his was almost negligible, but the warmth that spread from her fingers seeped into his very bones. That _other _look returned to her face, full of promise and trepidation—he felt it echo and resonate through him like a bell. Her fervent smile crinkled her eyes as she whispered, "So _make _plans."

Fenris watched her speechlessly as she slipped back into the Hightown rain, the water bouncing off her barrier spell. Hope quivered through him as he soaked up her words like a sponge, as he dared believe in possibility, in the future. And as he watched the bright teal robes fade into the wet haze, he had the mad, soaring thought that perhaps _this _was freedom.

_"Mereri quid feci tibi?" _he murmured to the silhouette as it disappeared entirely.

_What did I do to deserve you?_


	5. This is my Love Song

**AN:**...in which R-Kat shows her true colors. I have been waiting to write this ever since I completed the F!Hawke/Fenris romance...in _March_. ADMIRE MY RESTRAINT, PEOPLE! I hope I did my these crazy kids justice. (Bioware owns all, and never have I been more depressed by that fact than this moment).

* * *

><p>Cassidy stood framed by the window in her bedchamber, stirred to an unwonted restlessness by the strangeness of the day. Her mind turned toward the fragment of strange lyrium on Sandal's work table: the unnatural heat that had scorched her palms through her gloves, the eerie way it had seemed to <em>sing <em>to her, as though slightly off-key, and thought she finally understood a small piece of what Varric—and Bartrand—had experienced at its mercy. If Sandal couldn't do something with it, she would be just as happy pitching the cursed thing into the harbor.

There was a light in Fenris's window.

_Maybe he can't sleep either,_ Cassidy thought, gazing wistfully at the distant beacon. It was a lonely image, she reflected—a single pinprick of light surrounded on all sides by the night. If the day had seemed strange to her, she could only imagine what Fenris might be feeling.

Except she _couldn't_ imagine what he might be feeling, could she? Something inside her dropped sickeningly to the soles of her feet as she realized just how little she understood of him, of his life before Kirkwall. An icy film of doubt and worry coated the pit of her stomach as she painstakingly recalled every detail of the disastrous meeting with his sister and his former master. Caught in the tumult of the moment, Cassidy had prevented Fenris from murdering his only living family. But had it been the right thing to do? She tried to remember the swollen, venomous anger that had choked her when Carver announced his intention to join the Templars—it was the angriest she could remember being with her brother since they had been children. But she hadn't wanted him _dead_. It didn't compare. It _couldn't_ compare.

And then _Varania_—the name practically sneered itself in Cassidy's mind—was gone. The moment afterward seemed indelibly stamped in her memory. In the midst of the gore, shades' ichor, and the reek of blood magic in the stale air, Fenris had gazed _into_ her with such searching tenderness she had forgotten there was anyone else in the room. He had reached for her, out of sight of prying eyes, and had accepted the meager comfort of her embrace.

After Hadriana, he had come to her, hurting and snarling and beautiful, and had left her altered as clearly as though he had left a portion of his markings in her skin. Her hopes went with him, a scarlet tether around his sword-hand. As long as he bore that small favor, Cassidy found it impossible to reconcile herself to another's touch. And then, after Danarius, after Varania, he had come to her again—but it was different this time.

Cassidy pulled her arms around herself, shivering. She felt cold without his arms around her, without his solid, lithe frame sinking into her. It had taken every ounce of strength she'd possessed to step away from him. She still wasn't sure if she'd done the right thing, giving him space. What if he had wanted her to stay? What if he had _needed _her to stay?

Make plans, she'd told him. But what if those plans didn't include Kirkwall? What if they didn't include _her_?

The relentless agony of impossible questions burned away abruptly as Cassidy spun away from her window. Staff in hand, she slipped quietly through her slumbering estate and marched through the Hightown night.

The light was still on, and life was too short.

* * *

><p>Fenris stared blankly at six years' accumulated clutter. It felt unreal—was this home? <em>His <em>home? He eyed the mess critically—the splintered furniture, the sea of empty bottles, all marred with layers of grime. Vividly, he recalled the wet, coppery heat of Danarius's lifeblood on his fingers, and for the first time, he felt a savage satisfaction in the accomplishment. Danarius would not be returning to this sty, or to Minrathous, or to anywhere. Danarius was _dead_.

And it _was_ a sty, Fenris finally admitted to himself. In six years he had not bothered to clean anything, save the all-purpose chamber at the top of the grand staircase. As a slave, it had been his existence to toil on hands and knees with a stiff brush, scrubbing at imaginary filth with stinging, coarse soap until his hands cracked and the opulent tiles gleamed like mirrors. He regarded the thought of doing anything similar, of reverting to _that_, with the utmost loathing.

And yet the state of this place—_his_ place—suddenly shamed him. The hour was late; he had not slept in at least a day—but he was suddenly possessed by a restless urge to—to do _something_. Exactly what, he wasn't sure. Hands resting on his hips, he surveyed the filthy den and heaved a sigh of bewildered frustration. He halfheartedly nudged one of the many empty wine bottles with his foot, sending it bouncing across the uneven floor.

A muscle in his jaw twitched as the bottle came to rest in a pile of rags and bones from Maker-only-knew how long ago. Crouching in this grimy, oversized hovel—this was not what he had envisioned his freedom to be. He bent down and scooped up some of the crusty dishes, the broken furniture that had miraculously escaped the hearth fire so far and began assembling a trash pile. It didn't improve much in terms of appearance—or smell—but it helped assuage the restlessness that needled him.

And it felt right, to finally do something because he _wanted _to.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised to hear the floorboards creak, to feel the tickle of Cassidy's magic tug at the lyrium in his skin. The steady, bright warmth he'd felt in her arms that afternoon returned, and he realized he had been waiting for her.

She regarded him with a quizzical smile as she took in the half-in-shambles state of his surroundings. "I wouldn't have guessed you'd be the spring cleaning type," she teased by way of greeting.

He wasn't sure how to answer the unspoken question he saw hovering behind her usual crooked grin. "I am a fount of constant surprises," he drawled. _I didn't know this would be important._

She nodded thoughtfully, seeming to hear what he left unsaid. She leaned on her staff, turquoise eyes bright with something that sent jolts of pleasure and warmth clear to his toes as he watched her survey the remaining mess, the piles he didn't know what to do with. "Need some help?"

* * *

><p>Morning found them on the floor, propped awkwardly against the wall, curled into one another like cats. The predawn gray filtered slowly through the window, lending a dreamlike haze to the empty room. Cassidy woke gradually, roused by the discomfort of the unfamiliar position. Consciousness returned in a trickle—she froze as she realized that though she was cold, parts of her were warm, borrowing heat from the slumbering form pressed between her and the wall.<p>

The weight of Fenris's arms around her shoulders was slight, but she felt caught as thoroughly as though bands of iron squeezed her against him. Her head was tucked into the pad of his shoulder; her entire torso was cradled against his as though it belonged there. Her palm rested on his chest, separated from his heartbeat by only a few layers of cloth and armor. She was preternaturally aware of the rise and fall of his breathing, of the infinitesimal movements as he shifted in his sleep. Cassidy shifted her head, daring to move only by the smallest increments, until her eyes rested on his face. Something fluttered to life and took wing between one breath and the next as she studied the familiar, tanned contours in the soft, uncertain light, and she allowed herself to be held aloft for the space of a heartbeat.

She could read the change in him as Fenris woke. The lines of his face tightened, his entire body tensed, yet he held himself completely still. Cassidy did not fully understand the sense of loss she felt as his eyes opened and the rest of him closed. He regarded her solemnly, expression inscrutable as his gaze darted over her face, and she had the impression he was as surprised to find her there as she had been. She could only hold her breath and try not to blink.

"Fenris! Are you home?"

"Andraste's polka dot bloomers, I think he _cleaned _in here."

Fenris shot to his feet at the sound of Aveline's and Varric's voice downstairs, as though a coiled spring had been released. Cassidy could hear the distinctive rattle of the Guard-Captain's armor as she ascended the stairs. "Fenris, I've got to talk to you—Hawke!" Aveline's tone went from urgent to surprised as she noticed Cassidy standing sleepily in the corner. "What are you doing here?"

"You have to ask?" Varric chuckled, looking oddly triumphant as he glanced speculatively between them.

"I have a better question," Fenris rumbled moodily. "What are _you _doing here, and so early?" Having recovered himself enough to realize danger was not imminent, he relaxed and bent to coax a flame from the embers left in the fireplace.

"We've got good news and bad news," Varric began cheerfully. "The good news is you're free! You can move out of this dump and come live with real people!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Fenris demanded bitingly. "What 'real people'?"

Cassidy smiled ruefully—apparently, he wasn't a morning person. "What's the bad news?" she ventured cautiously.

Aveline's serious expression left no room for joking as she answered, "I can't keep the seneschal from noticing Fenris is here for much longer. He's making noise about having this place torn down, to 'improve the neighborhood.'" The sour twist of her mouth left no doubt as to what she thought of _that _idea.

That, at least, got his attention. Fenris inhaled deeply as he stepped away from the hearth, as though to stifle the instinctive protest he wanted to voice. "I appreciate all you've done, Aveline," he said neutrally.

"But you're staying!" Varric exclaimed incredulously. "You could go anywhere now, and you're staying _here_!"

"Perhaps I don't wish to go anywhere," Fenris snapped with impatient finality.

Varric swapped a look of disbelief with Aveline, before turning to leave. "Freedom must be a terrible burden, I guess," he muttered.

Fenris watched them go. The bad temper evident in his expression faded into a distant, pensive stare into nothing. "They don't understand," he murmured. "Yes, I am free. Danarius is dead. Yet—it doesn't feel like it should."

"You were expecting fireworks, perhaps?" Cassidy quipped, taking a seat on one of the benches.

He acknowledged her sarcasm with only the smallest of exasperated glares before continuing, "I thought if I didn't have to run and fight to stay alive, I'd be able to live as a free man does. But how is that?" he asked pensively. "My sister is gone. I have nothing." He frowned as he scuffed his bare foot against the clean floor. "Not even an enemy."

"We fight to stay alive every day, almost," Cassidy pointed out, "though you're welcome to try a less violent approach the next time we get jumped." She smiled as she fastened her gaze to his, feeling as though she would be content to get lost in the tangled forest of green. "You've been a free man since I've known you, Fenris," she said with gentle conviction. "Killing Danarius didn't give you anything you didn't already have."

He tilted his head to one side, considering. "An interesting thought," he mused. "It's just—I've spent what I know of my life hating magic for what it did to me. If I seem bitter, it's not without cause."

Cassidy turned her face away from him as her heart sank. "At the end of the day, Fenris," she argued softly, "_Danarius_ is responsible for what happened to you. I hoped you'd know the difference by now." Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she stood and made for the door.

"Hawke, wait." Fenris's hand closed around her wrist, and she allowed herself to be drawn back. "I've been a free man for all of a day. No," he said sharply when she opened her mouth to argue, "just listen. In the space of a day I have done precisely _two _things for no other reason than because I wanted to. _Two_. One was to clean this—as Varric called it—dump."

"And the other?" Cassidy prompted when he hesitated.

"The other was to spend an entire night with you in my arms," he confessed hoarsely. "You're right—it is time to move forward. I just don't know where that leads. Do you?"

"I generally make things up as I go." The winged sensation returned and beat wildly against her ribcage as she tentatively slid her hand into his palm. "Two heads are better than one, though."

"I hoped you'd say that." The smile that lit his face remained in his eyes long after it had slipped from his mouth. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire. "We've never really spoken about what happened between us three years ago," he continued softly.

"We're busy people," Cassidy replied with studied nonchalance, caught between the warmth of his hand in hers and the memory of the desperate sadness that welled within her like poison. "And you didn't really want to."

"I felt like a fool," he admitted ruefully. "I thought it better if you hated me. I deserve no less." The reflection of the fire danced strangely in his eyes, making him appear as dangerous as his namesake. "But it isn't better." His expression softened, almost imperceptibly, as he looked into her face. "That night—I remember your touch as if it were yesterday," he murmured huskily. "I should have asked your forgiveness long ago. I hope you can forgive me now."

Silence stretched and coiled between them like a wary cat. "Why did you leave that night?" she asked softly. It was a question that had burned within her like a hot iron—so long a part of her she had almost forgotten it was there. Now that it appeared she may finally get an answer, it scalded under her skin with renewed energy.

Fenris heaved a sigh, as though he had both expected and dreaded the question. "I've thought about the answer to that a thousand times," he answered, remorse coloring his voice. "The pain, the memories it brought up—it was too much. You deserved—_deserve_—better than a coward. If I could go back, I would stay. I would tell you how I felt."

Cassidy threaded her fingers through his, disregarding the slight discomfort of the cold metal of his gauntlets. "I'm here now—what would you have said?"

"Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you."

For a single, impossible moment, her entire world felt composed of the roar of blood in her ears and the rush of wings bearing away three years of bitter agony. Cassidy felt the beginnings of a giddy, joyful grin pull her mouth towards her ears. "I don't know," she said, attempting a breezy tone and failing miserably, "I might enjoy holding this over you for a while—say, the next lifetime or so."

Fenris's smile illuminated every line in his face as he curled his hands around her waist and pulled her to him. "If there is a future to be had," he whispered, "I will walk into it gladly at your side."

Cassidy crushed her lips to his in a flurry of memory and anticipation. Her fingers snaked into his hair, traced the swoop and point of his ears. As if from a great distance she heard the clunk of Fenris's gauntlets as they hit the floor, and then his bare hands were cradling her face, holding her still as he slanted his mouth against hers. Almost without breaking the kiss, Fenris hooked one arm under her knees and scooped her off the floor. She squealed in surprise and clung to his neck. "What are you doing?" she asked breathlessly.

"Making plans." He grinned cheekily. "I don't care if the archdemon itself has frolicked over every horizontal surface in this house," he said huskily, and the tender heat in his voice scorched her to her bones. "If we're doing this, it will be in a _bed_."


	6. Interlude: Honeymoon Phase

**AN: **So hi guys-long time no see. Sorry for the long delay-school and real life pulled a two-for-one-RKat-doesn't-update-for-months deal. Hopefully the next few chapters won't take as long. And don't forget, Bioware owns all!

A couple of notes about this chapter: it was originally going to be much longer, but then it got way too long. I wanted to explore the completion of the Fenris/Hawke romance a bit more, so this is my attempt at fluff. If you guys would like to see more (or at least would be willing to read more) let me know; I've been kind of itching to do a fluff side project for a little while now.

* * *

><p><em>Part 1: Dichotomy <em>

In battle, she was all sharp angles and relentless control. In battle, her face was a mask of deadly purpose and icy calm that still surprised him on occasion. She struck with lightning speed and precision—her spells never missed, never wavered. It was in battle that she relieved some of her mounting frustration with the templars and mages, finding solace in the exactitude and control required for every spell she cast. In battle, she belonged to the moment, to the companions who relied on her, to Kirkwall itself. In battle, she was the Champion.

Here—here she was different. Here, she was smiles and curves and light and _heat_. Here, she molded to the fierce and tender exploration of his hands. Here, she was _his_. It was _his_ name on her lips, a frantic litany as he pulled her over the edge time and time again. Fenris swirled his fingertips across her back, reveling in the way she reacted: she arched into him, sought his mouth with hers almost instinctively. Her magic sang out to the lyrium in his skin like a siren, beckoning him ever deeper into her. The afternoon sunlight sliced through the feeble barrier of the curtains to dance brightly across her skin. She cut through the mansion's pervasive gloom and left him dazzled, blinded. It was a helplessness he was swiftly learning to enjoy.

Afternoon faded into evening, evening into night. Words flowed between them in quiet murmurs, as though anything louder might jeopardize the fragile enchantment woven around them. It couldn't last into the next day, he knew. She knew it too—he could see it in the way she avoided looking at the darkening sky behind the cracked window. They could not hide in this gilded timelessness forever.

The white sliver of moon hung in the sky like a pendant. Its light crept into the bedroom, lining it in silver. Fenris ached at the beauty of her as her pale skin seemed to take in the ethereal light, as her turquoise gaze poured it back into him. "I will cherish this day for as long as I live," he promised gravely.

She stilled, watching his face with a wary vulnerability that sped into him and stuck like a barbed arrow. "It's been a good day," she replied carefully.

He had been running for long enough to recognize her retreat for what it was. He rumbled in protest and rolled her beneath him, recklessly leaping across the chasm of inches and years that abruptly lay between them. Her eyes gleamed silver-blue in the moonlight, the only part of her not yet frozen in the Champion's mask. Fenris inhaled bracingly and plunged into the unknown. "I want more days like today, Hawke, if you will share them with me."

Her smile was a slow thing, so gradual he almost missed it. It melted away the cool mask much like spring inexorably replaces winter, until he was basking in its warm glow. She threaded her slim fingers into his hair and dragged him into a kiss, dragged him into the warmth and light she seemed to reserve just for him. A primal thrill shot through him as he realized anew that she was _his, his, his!_ He rested his forehead on hers as the knowledge shuddered through him, as months and years of careful distance peeled away and left only this.

"_I am yours_."

_Part 2: Insatiable_

At first, he thought it merely a symptom of going without her for three years, that the burn and ache would gradually fade as he grew accustomed to her smile, her presence. But he'd been wrong.

She was a fire, a fever in his blood. She scorched a path through his dreams, filled every waking moment with her heat. He found himself at her door most nights, wanting closeness more than the space she offered. She smiled every time—a slow, face-splitting grin that told him she had been waiting for him, but didn't dare hope he would come. He tangled himself in her, in her bed and in her life.

And every time, after she had exhausted herself gasping his name against his tattooed skin, after he had shouted himself hoarse chasing her over the edge, she would sprawl against him, one leg thrown possessively over his hips. Eyes half-closed, skin flushed, she would smile sleepily, and before sleep would claim her, she would whisper—

"_I could never get enough of this."_

_Part 3: Enunciation_

It was everywhere.

It was in the way her hand found his as they walked through Hightown, and in the answering squeeze he gave her fingers.

It was in the way her smile flashed just for him before it morphed into her usual lopsided grin, and in the brush of his lips against her temple as his arms snaked around her waist.

It was in the way she deepened every kiss, and in the way his every touch turned into a caress.

It was in the way they danced elegantly around one another on the battlefield, and in the way they rushed together afterwards.

More than anything, it was in the way they never really needed words to say "I love you."


End file.
